


Scandal

by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Coercion, Hurt/Comfort, Jailbait - Freeform, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Romance, Smoking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:45:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles/pseuds/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames is the sheriff of a small town and Arthur is the troubled kid on the block. Eames is too protective for his own good and Arthur just wants to stay out of jail. Arthur/Eames</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scandal

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out[here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**

“Oh Arthur, what have you done to yourself this time?” Eames whispered as he knelt down beside the seventeen year old passed out on the lawn. He hated to think that Arthur could have been left out here all night to freeze and die if Mrs. Mulberry hadn’t called him complaining about shouting outside her house. Eames had dragged himself out of bed, cursing the town for always having issues in the middle of the night. But now he was glad he got called.

 

Arthur didn’t respond to his question, obviously, and Eames was just grateful to see that chest rising and falling at a normal sleeping rhythm. That was the only comforting fact though; the rest of Arthur’s visible skin was covered with bruises and blood.

 

Eames hoisted Arthur into his arms and deposited the teen in the back of his patrol car, closing the door to keep the wind off the boy. Then he headed up the manicured lawn to get a statement from Mrs. Mulberry. He assured her that he’d take care of Arthur and got the description of the other teens Arthur had gotten into a fight with on the street. Eames wanted to go after them right away, having a strong idea of who it had been from previous experience, but Arthur was his top priority right now.

 

He got back into his car and turned the heat up, worried that Arthur would have gotten a chill from collapsing in the late fall air. Eames drove to the next town over where the hospital was, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he parked and pulled Arthur back into his arms. The streets and the hospital were both quiet with the late hour, meaning Eames got seen right away.

 

“Oh lord, don’t tell me that’s Arthur again,” Doris gave an exasperated, worried huff when she saw the unconscious teen in Eames’s arms.

 

“Afraid so,” Eames grimaced as he settled Arthur down onto an offered stretcher. “Would you fix him up? I’ll pay the bill,” he offered pointlessly; this routine was not new to either of them.

 

“Eames, you’re a great guy but you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Doris cautioned him as she looked Arthur over for an initial assessment. “He’s not learning and one day you’re going to bring him in here and we won’t be able to fix him.”

 

“I’m not giving up on him,” Eames ground out sharply, feeling sick at the thought of the day Doris was describing; a day Eames knew would someday come if things didn’t change. Doris gave a sad, understanding nod and wheeled Arthur away, leaving Eames to seat himself in the tiny waiting room.

 

Everyone knew Eames cared for Arthur, though no one quite understood why. But Eames had to care in order to put up with all of the shit Arthur put him through. Eames knew what a troubled childhood was like and how hard it was to escape the resulting thoughts and lifestyle. He wanted to help Arthur out of it, determined to keep the teen from spiralling down too far to be saved. That’s what he allowed everyone in town to believe anyway. It was undoubtedly true, but it was only part of the story.

 

He didn’t tell anyone about the way he was blinded by rage when he saw Arthur hurt. Or the way his heart did an excited little skip when Arthur gave him a rare, grateful smile. Or the way images of Arthur’s face and form swarmed his thoughts when he was busy jerking off to porn.

 

Eames wouldn’t fool himself into believing Arthur was entirely innocent and always the victim. The kid was too independent to rightfully blame much on peer pressure. Arthur sought out trouble purposefully. Sometimes Eames thought it was for attention, other times because he just didn’t care, and a few rare occasions after a fight at home when Arthur wanted the beatings to go beyond the point of recovery.

 

It was about thirty minutes of waiting and worrying before Doris reappeared and motioned him back behind the counter. Feeling his stomach twist into nervous knots, Eames dragged himself out of the chair to follow. He was led to a small room where Arthur was sleeping soundly on the hospital bed; the little bugger got to sleep his worries away while Eames fretted and lost some hard-earned money – _again_.

 

He watched as Doris pushed Arthur’s shirt up slightly, showing a few livid bruises on his stomach and back where they would be hidden beneath clothing. Eames closed his eyes for a moment, searching for calmness, and then forced himself to focus. “The kids?” he asked, doubting his assumption before he even voiced it.

 

Doris shook her head and pushed Arthur’s shirt back down, hiding the tarnished skin. “These are a few days old; not from tonight. And before you ask,” she cut him off before Eames could utter a word, “they’re too new for them to be from his last fight. Besides,” she sighed, face a little flushed with anger the way Eames knew his face was as well, “kids don’t know how to hit like this to keep it from showing.”

 

“Fuck,” Eames cursed softly, turning away from the sight of Arthur’s battered body until he got himself under control.

 

“You need to get him out of that house, Eames,” Doris placed a hand on his shoulder, centering his attention. “It’s getting worse and I worry there will be lasting damage soon.”

 

“I worry too,” Eames admitted, turning back around to look the sleeping teen over. Those bruises looked far too familiar, bruises that had marred his own skin up until ten years ago when he saved up enough money to run away, make this small town his new home, and start over. “I’ll figure something out.”

 

He signed the papers to get Arthur released and got Arthur lying down on the back seats of his car once more. He waved goodbye to Doris and drove back to his own town, heading straight for his house. There was no way he was going to take Arthur back home tonight, knowing his ill-tempered parents would probably land another beating on him for being gone half of the night. Eames never wanted Arthur to go back to that house again, Doris’s warning echoing in his mind as he drove through the deserted roads across town, but he couldn’t force Arthur to leave his parents.

 

Eames parked in his driveway and pulled his keys out of the ignition, stepping up to his front porch to unlock his front door before returning to the car to pull Arthur into his arms. He settled the sleeping teen on his ratty old couch, a place Arthur had slept more than once after nights like this, and threw some blankets over his lithe form. The clock on his fireplace mantle informed him that it was a little after three in the morning and Eames was grateful he didn’t have to be at the sheriff’s office until mid-afternoon; his deputy was taking the morning shift.

 

He locked the doors and changed back into the track pants he had been forced to change out of when Mrs. Mulberry had called him. But before he crawled back into his bed to sleep, however tempting it was, he knelt in front of the couch and threaded his fingers through Arthur’s soft hair. Eames still remembered the first time he had brought Arthur home when he found the kid in the nearby park, drunk, sobbing and bleeding profusely from a punch to the nose. Eames didn’t know why he decided to bring Arthur home, or why he petted the teen’s hair, but he remembered Arthur quieting and sighing contently at the touch of his fingers. Eames had adopted the habit ever since.

 

Eventually his eyes grew tired and, after tucking the blankets around Arthur’s form a little tighter, Eames stood up and crawled back into his own bed. The knowledge that Arthur was asleep on his couch, safe for at least one night, comforted Eames enough that he fell asleep almost instantly.

 

It didn’t last long though, Eames opening his blurry eyes to see the clock on his dresser reading six in the morning when he felt the mattress dip under new weight. He rolled over to watch as Arthur slipped beneath Eames’s sheets and shuffled closer, turning until his back was pressed against Eames’s chest. “Hi, Eames,” Arthur greeted softly, voice hushed and tired in the pre-dawn light.

 

“Hi, Arthur,” Eames gave an exasperated sigh even as he wrapped an arm carefully around Arthur’s middle, cradling his body a little closer. He wanted to yell at Arthur, shake some sense into him, but knew that would just get Arthur’s defences up. He also knew they were both too tired to get anything productive discussed right then, so he just buried his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck, took a deep breath, and allowed himself to slip back into sleep.

 

Eames woke up around eleven and spent a few minutes lounging in bed, holding the sleeping teen close. He knew this was wrong in so many ways, the two of them ten years apart and Arthur not even legal yet, but it just felt so wonderful, so right to have Arthur sleeping in bed with him, sharing heat, _safe_. He could only imaging what the rest of the town would say and do if they found out about these stolen moments but tried not to think about it too much.

 

After a few guilty moments Eames pulled himself away from Arthur’s tempting form and got out of bed. He changed in silence, watching Arthur continue to sleep with just his face and hair visible above Eames’s duvet. Then he headed out of the bedroom to fold the now-unnecessary blankets and make some breakfast. He still had another three hours until he had to get to work and Eames wondered silently if he could talk Arthur into staying another night. He wanted the teen to be away from his abusive parents, but didn’t know if an extra night away would just make his return more violent.

 

Even though he wanted to return to Arthur and his bed, Eames forced himself to push his finished breakfast plate away and grab the newspaper to read, lighting up a cigarette to ease at least one of his current cravings. Eames was about halfway through the paper, caught up on all of the recent news, when Arthur stumbled into the kitchen. “Grab some breakfast,” Eames muttered past his cigarette, only looking up from his paper to watch Arthur’s movements when the teen had his back turned to him. Arthur looked stiff and tense, but it appeared to only be from his wounds’ lingering pain.

 

Arthur shoved the remaining egg and bacon onto a new plate and sat down heavily at the table, cleaning his plate in silence like he had been starving. Eames tried not to watch but ended up watching Arthur over the edge of the newspaper to make sure the teen finished eating. He was grateful to see that even though Arthur looked like one gigantic bruise, he didn’t appear to be particularly pained in his movements. “Thanks,” Arthur finally mumbled as he pushed the plate away, offering up a tiny smile.

 

Eames felt his heart flutter the way it always did with that look but returned his gaze purposefully to the newspaper. “How about you show your gratitude by not getting into anymore of these stupid fights?” he bit out, worry turning his words sharp.

 

“Tommy was being an ass,” Arthur grumbled, argument weak as his eyes fixated on the ugly tiling of the Eames’s kitchen.

 

“And I’m sure you were just a little angel,” Eames rolled his eyes, taking another long drag of smoke into his lungs. Arthur glanced up at him and then looked away, not holding Eames’s gaze. “Based on Mrs. Mulberry’s report there were four guys plus you. Not smart odds.” Eames tapped some excess ash into the glass tray on the table before bringing the cigarette back to his lips.

 

“Why the fuck do you care?” Arthur asked harshly, rubbing his fingers against his scraped jaw. There was no question that Eames cared; they both knew that.

 

“Because I don’t want you following my past,” Eames admitted, not for the first time.

 

“Trying to save your past self through me?” Arthur laughed humourlessly, finally staring back at Eames across the small, water stained kitchen table.

 

“Something like that,” Eames looked away, parting his lips to release a new cloud of smoke.

 

Arthur scoffed and shook his head. “I’m beyond the point of saving, Eames,” the teen stated as though he was a doctor with bad news.

 

“I refuse to believe that,” he shot back strongly even though his heart clenched painfully at the thought of giving up on Arthur. He stubbed his cigarette out, the smoke suddenly burning his throat as it constricted at the mental image of finding Arthur beyond saving, _dead_.

 

He watched silently as Arthur stared at the floor for another minute or so, and continued to watch when Arthur pushed himself out of his chair. Eames wanted to protest when Arthur situated himself in Eames’s lap, legs straddling Eames’s thighs tightly to stay on the chair and hands on his shoulders for balance, but a part of him had been eagerly anticipating this too much to object. He set the newspaper aside and placed his hands on Arthur’s narrow hips, scared of the teen falling and injuring himself further, but when he felt Arthur’s lips on his own Eames turned his face away. “I don’t want to go to jail, Eames,” Arthur half-sobbed against Eames’s skin.

 

“Then cut the fucking nonsense,” Eames pleaded, clenching his eyes closed when he felt Arthur’s relentless lips sucking marks onto the sensitive skin of his jaw and neck. Eames would have thrown Arthur in jail if he thought it would do anything, if he thought it would teach the kid an important lesson. But Eames refused to lock Arthur up because a kid like Arthur would get killed before he could learn anything. He was pretty sure Arthur knew Eames wouldn’t put him in jail as well, but for some reason Arthur kept trying to bribe him anyway.

 

“Do you want me to stop this?” Arthur whispered against his ear, licking Eames’s earlobe and dragging an unwilling groan from Eames’s lips.

 

“I’m not going to put you in jail,” was all Eames could say. It was as close to telling Arthur to stop as his self control could manage – taking away his assumed reason for doing this. But instead of stopping, Arthur began nipping and kissing more of Eames’s neck while moving against Eames rhythmically. “Oh _fuck_ , Arthur, please...” Eames swallowed thickly, fighting his urge to turn into Arthur’s kiss, “Stop.”

 

“What?” Arthur pulled away slightly to meet Eames’s gaze, stopping his hips’ movements as he nuzzled Eames’s jaw with his nose. “Why?”

 

“Because...” Eames trailed off, pressing his face against Arthur’s collarbone and breathing in deeply to take in Arthur’s unique smell. “Because...” He didn’t say it was wrong, because even though it was, even though they both _knew_ that it was wrong, it didn’t feel wrong. “Because you don’t need to do this.”

 

Arthur removed his hands from Eames’s shoulders and wrapped his arms around the back of Eames’s neck, pulling them so close together their noses were brushing. Arthur pressed forward, moulding their chests together as their lips locked. Eames pulled away again, leaning away, but Arthur followed him, capturing his lips again. Eames turned his face away, breaking the kiss, but then felt one of Arthur’s palms cup his cheek, turning him back to face the teen. “I want to pay you back for the favour of keeping me out of jail.”

 

Eames shook his head, feeling his lips tingle with the phantom weight of Arthur’s lips against his own. “There’s nothing to repay,” he insisted even as he pulled Arthur a little closer with his hands on the teen’s hips, both of them hard in their pants. Even though there was no good reason for this to happen without a favour to be repaid, Eames couldn’t bear the thought of that being the driving force of their couplings any longer.

 

“Then I just want to do it because it’s you,” Arthur whispered. He looked serious and Eames felt his heart flutter pleasantly. But this time Arthur remained seated on Eames’s thighs, watching him but not leaning forward again.

 

Arthur was blushing furiously at his confession and Eames felt his own cheeks grow warm as well, words he wouldn’t allow himself to say clawing up his throat. It felt surreal sitting on his uncomfortable chair in his kitchen, the musty curtains pulled shut and making the room’s light hazy as Eames watched Arthur in his lap; it was like a drunken, overly romanticized dream. “Fine,” Eames leaned forward and nipped Arthur’s lower lip quickly, weathering it between his teeth as Arthur began rocking in his lap again. “Go get the lube.”

 

Eames couldn’t help but smile slightly when Arthur smiled and slid off his lap, heading for the bedroom. Eames felt energetic and giddy, the way he always did when he was close to Arthur, knowing he and the teen would be even closer within a few short minutes. It made his heart race and his body burn with arousal with just the simple thought of what was coming. Arthur returned a moment later, placing the easily-found bottle of lube on the table before returning to his previous position in Eames’s lap.

 

Their lips collided with a guilty eagerness that came from doing something forbidden. Eames licked into Arthur’s mouth immediately, smiling when Arthur opened his mouth without protest. Now that he had decided to give into this, he was damn well going to enjoy it. He led Arthur’s movements in his lap even though Arthur knew the rhythm they both liked already; Eames just liked having his hands on Arthur, and he could make their rutting a little harsher, a little more powerful.

 

Arthur moaned weakly into Eames’s mouth and Eames suddenly pulled away jerkily. “Wait, wait,” he panted, chest heaving against Arthur’s own. Arthur looked down at him angrily, body already hot and bothered. “Are you alright to do this?”

 

“Oh fuck off,” Arthur snarled, eyes sharpening from their aroused haze. “I can determine for myself if I’m alright to do this. You don’t need to worry about me.”

 

“Tough luck,” Eames pulled Arthur against him hard enough to make Arthur whine with real pain. “I worry anyway.”

 

The anger seemed to bleed from both of them in a rush at those words and they were kissing frantically again. Eames left Arthur to lead their pace as he shoved Arthur’s shirt up and over his head, flinging the fabric to the kitchen floor. His eyes trailed over Arthur’s form greedily but grew distracted by the livid bruises across pale skin. Eames ran his fingers over the bruises softly, failing to match Arthur’s demanding pace as their lips barely moved. Arthur pulled away and nipped Eames’s lower lip hard. “Stop looking at them,” Arthur demanded even as he shivered at the feel of Eames’s soft caresses across his many wounds.

 

Eames sighed and pulled Arthur into a tender kiss, and he moaned happily when Arthur allowed it, their lips sliding together with obvious affection. But Arthur was young and much less patient than Eames once they both got this riled up, horny in his youth. Eames felt like he was a teen as well when he was with Arthur, oversensitive to each touch and sound Arthur gave him, but he always grinned teasingly at Arthur when he got aroused and worked up. So when Arthur keened into his mouth and began rocking against him again, Eames finally dropped his hands down to fight with the button and zipper of Arthur’s jeans.

 

Once he had the zipper down Arthur stumbled off his lap and shoved his pants off with trembling hands, standing in front of Eames naked a moment later. Eames allowed his eyes to roam freely, easily wiping Arthur’s shy look away with the hungry look in Eames’s own eyes. It made his throat constrict slightly at the sight of the bruises littering the teen’s body, but seeing Arthur’s flushed cock bobbing heavily because of _Eames_ spurred Eames to shove off his own shirt and begin undoing his own pants.

 

Arthur dropped to his knees in front of Eames to help pull his pants down before placing one hand on each of Eames’s knees and leaning forward to swallow his length down his throat. Arthur was sometimes a little overzealous in his actions when he and Eames slept together, but his enthusiasm just made Eames moan his approval as he slid his fingers into Arthur’s soft hair to lead him lightly. He let his eyes slide closed as Arthur sucked him diligently for a few minutes, but then he pushed the teen away. “Arthur, it’s been over two weeks... I can’t last...”

 

“You can come in my mouth,” Arthur offered with a smirk, remaining situated between Eames’s legs as he licked a long line up the underside of Eames’s cock.

 

Eames gripped Arthur’s chin with enough strength to tilt Arthur’s gaze upward, doing his best to stave off his building orgasm at Arthur’s words. “I’m going to fuck you, so get your gorgeous little ass up here.”

 

Arthur’s smirk widened and he straightened, snatching up the bottle of lube and pushing it into Eames’s hand before straddling Eames’s thighs again. “I didn’t want it to be this long,” Arthur admitted as Eames dripped lube onto three of his fingers.

 

Eames dropped his fingers down between the cleft of Arthur’s ass, circling one finger teasingly around Arthur’s hole to spread lube. Then he pressed one finger in carefully, feeling how tight the ring of muscles was against his finger’s intrusion. But Arthur sat down on his finger persistently, taking him in deeper and stretching himself around the narrow girth of Eames’s pointer finger. Taking this as a strong hint, Eames wiggled a second finger into Arthur, spreading lube generously as Arthur began to stretch and relax around him. After a few minutes of thrusting his fingers in and out gently Eames worked in his third finger, scissoring his fingers inside of Arthur’s tight heat, and then withdrew his fingers.

 

Arthur whined against Eames’s lips at the loss but Eames just pecked his lips quickly as he smirked and coated his hand with more lube, spreading it over his twitching length. “Be patient,” he teased the teen as he reached over Arthur to set the bottle of lube on the kitchen table next to the dirty breakfast plates. Arthur rose onto his knees slightly to line himself up with Eames’s cock, Eames holding himself steady in preparation.

 

Their eyes met and held as Arthur slowly sunk down onto Eames, taking him in slowly but steadily until he was fully seated on Eames’s thighs again. Arthur’s muscles clenched around Eames rhythmically for a moment as the teen readjusted to his size, and Eames let out a hiss that turned into a moan, peppering kisses along any inch of Arthur’s skin he could reach. “You feel so good, darling...  So fucking tight...”

 

“I haven’t used my fingers since our last time,” Arthur spoke weakly as he dug his nails into Eames’s shoulders, leaving half-moon indents in his skin.

 

“Keeping yourself ready for me?” Eames felt the words spilling from his lips faster than his moans, wanting to hear Arthur say it.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Arthur nodded before pressing their lips together again, beginning to lift himself off Eames’s cock before sitting down again hard. Their teeth clashed with their eagerness as their lips moved together, Eames keeping his hands on Arthur’s hips to help the teen rise and fall onto each of Eames’s thrusts upward. Arthur would rise each time so that just Eames’s tip was being hugged by that searing heat, and then he would sit down hard enough to put delicious weight on Eames’s balls each time.  

 

As their pace quickened they didn’t manage to get much more spoken between them, though their lips remained pressed together as Arthur continued to ride Eames eagerly, almost desperate for his release. Eames found the right angle to thrust against Arthur’s prostate on each downward thrust – a bundle of nerves he had been pleased to introduce the teen to during their first coupling. Arthur pulled away with a gasp and pressed his face against Eames’s sweaty neck, nodding constantly to egg Eames on even though he didn’t utter another word.

 

Eames knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, his body sweaty and heaving as Arthur rode him ceaselessly. He was worried the chair might tip over with their combined weight as their rhythm grew more frantic, the wooden chair legs scraping against the tile slightly as they rocked back an inch or two from the table. While keeping one hand on Arthur’s hip for support, Eames encircled his other hand tightly around Arthur’s swollen cock, tugging in time with Arthur’s uncoordinated rhythm.

 

“Fuck, _Eames_...” Arthur keened, mouthing wetly against Eames’s neck as he continued to thrust down on Eames.

 

Eames noticed the teen’s movements growing a little shaky as he grew exhausted, Arthur struggling desperately for air as he attempted to continue his movements. “Come on, Arthur. C’mon.” He twisted his hand around the leaking head of Arthur’s cock and thrust up with all the energy he had remaining, pushing Arthur down almost too hard as the chair rocked in warning. “ _C’mon_.”

 

Arthur jerked in his lap, hot ropes of come splattering over Eames’s hand and stomach as he ground down on Eames’s cock hard, burning muscles clenching around Eames and dragging his own orgasm from his body. It was only as his hips jerked upward automatically, pulsing his own come into Arthur’s willing body that he froze, realizing that they had forgotten a condom. “Shit!” he yelled, trying to pull out before he could do any further damage. But both of their bodies were still trembling with their orgasms and they tumbled off the kitchen chair, bodies slamming into the cold tile.

 

They both groaned as their bodies began to ache with the fall, and then Arthur raised himself onto his hands to look down at Eames with blurry vision. “What is it?” Arthur asked, sounding as though he was in a daze.

 

Eames stole one greedy glance down their bodies, Arthur on his hands and knees framing Eames on the floor. Arthur’s come was painted across his body and Eames could see his own come dripping from between Arthur’s legs onto Eames’s thigh. “Shit, I’m such a fucking moron!” Eames covered his eyes with a hand, not allowing himself to see the incredibly _hot_ mistake he had just made. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Don’t tell me this was a mistake...” Arthur whispered, sounding like a dangerous mix between heartbroken and furious.

 

Eames removed his hand immediately and rolled them over, pressing Arthur’s back against the cold tile. “Of course it wasn’t a mistake,” he dropped a quick kiss to Arthur’s lips, hating the hurt, betrayed look in those cautious brown eyes. “I just...” Eames swallowed. “I forgot a condom. I swear I’m clean!” he assured the teen under him when he felt Arthur tense, “But it was my responsibility.”

 

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting in terms of a reaction when Arthur was finally made fully aware of the come dripping out of him slowly, but Arthur kissing him like it was his last moment alive was not his first thought. Eames reeled for a moment, lips frozen until Arthur coaxed him into following Arthur’s lead, locking their lips together for a long moment before they pulled apart again. “The condoms were by the lube but I didn’t grab one,” Arthur confessed, kissing Eames’s jaw apologetically. “I’ve never had sex with anyone else and I wanted...” Arthur trailed off, looking unsure. “I wanted to feel all of you.”

 

Even as relief washed over Eames at the realization that they were both completely clean, Eames felt his heart jolt to a stop. “You never told me you were a virgin,” he whispered in horror, remembering their first coupling last year. He had been overly careful with the teen, but he had never known... “Oh fuck, I’m going to hell.”

 

“As long as you take me with you,” Arthur attempted to joke weakly, though Eames was just shaking his head, trying to pull away. “Eames!” Arthur snapped angrily, rolling them over and pinning Eames’s arms to the floor. Eames could easily hoist the thin teen off him if he chose, but he allowed Arthur to hold him down and capture his attention effortlessly. “Please don’t act like this was a mistake, like I didn’t have a choice in this too,” Arthur pleaded.

 

Eames realized immediately why Arthur seemed so upset. The teen wasn’t upset by Eames’s momentary lapse in judgement; he was panicking at the sense of being out of control. Eames remembered Arthur admitting, the second time Eames had brought him home after finding him after some pointless fight, that Eames’s house was the only place he felt like he was in control of his own life. Eames had felt overwhelmed but honoured, and was pretty sure his heart had melted slightly in that moment.

 

“I’m sorry, love,” Eames brushed a few strands of sweaty black hair aside before kissing Arthur’s temple gently. “I don’t regret it,” he assured the teen, “and I know you had a choice in it. I just wish we’d talked it over first, alright?” Arthur stared down at him for a long moment and then nodded, though Eames could feel Arthur tensing up further as he forced his body to calm. “Please don’t do that, Arthur,” he begged softly, moving his free hand downward to rub soothing circles on Arthur’s back. “You’re allowed to be upset here, remember?” Arthur glanced away but nodded. “Please don’t hide yourself from me.”

 

Arthur leaned forward and pressed their lips together. Eames allowed Arthur to kiss him for a few minutes, kissing Arthur softly as he felt the teen calm against him. But eventually his back grew stiff against the cold tile and he had to push Arthur away long enough to stand up and pull Arthur to his feet as well. Eames saw the clock and cursed quietly, realizing he didn’t have a lot of time left before work.

 

He dragged Arthur into the shower with him, their greedy hands exploring exposed, soapy skin more than actively cleaning. But eventually they were both clean and towelling themselves dry, Eames grabbing a new outfit from his closet while tossing Arthur a ratty pair of track pants and a shirt to put on. Eames took longer to dress, and when he returned to the kitchen he found their clothes removed to a hamper and two sandwiches waiting on the table. “You didn’t have to make anything,” Eames chided lightly as he righted their fallen chair, sitting down at the table.

 

“It’s habit,” Arthur shrugged awkwardly as he sat down at the table as well. Eames was going to draw more attention to that comment but Arthur spoke up again quickly. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend, Eames?”

 

Eames raised an eyebrow at that, surprised by how obtuse the question was from a teen as brilliant as Arthur. “Because I have no interest in women.”

 

“Well then why do you not have a boyfriend?” Arthur countered immediately. He sounded like that was his original question but had not wanted to make assumptions.

 

Eames, just finishing with his sandwich, lit up a new cigarette and brought it to his lips. He didn’t respond to Arthur’s question for a long moment, taking his time dragging smoke into his lungs to calm himself down. He didn’t know why Arthur was suddenly asking these questions; was this a test? “Because...” he began and then trailed off, seeing Arthur raise an expectant eyebrow. “What the fuck do you want me to say, Arthur?” he grumbled, feeling flustered.

 

“I want to know what this is,” Arthur muttered, sounding angry and confused. “I want to know why you have no partner at your age and yet you’re always willing to bring me home after I’ve been in a fight.”

 

“First, explain to me why you keep getting into these stupid fights,” Eames demanded, forcing himself to keep his voice low. He had yelled at Arthur once before, the first time he had brought the kid home after a fight, and Arthur had startled terribly at his raised voice. “I get you have a fucked up family,” he took another long drag of smoke. “But why do you do this to yourself? Why do you put _me_ through this?”

 

“Put you through _what_?” Arthur yelled, only terrified when someone was yelling at him, which Eames thought was extremely unfair in moments like these when he wanted to yell back. “I didn’t ask for your help!”

 

“Oh piss off,” Eames grumbled, gripping the edge of the table to keep himself centered. “You _know_ someone’s going to call me about the fights and your injuries. You _know_ I’m going to be the one to find you at your worst. And you should fucking _know_ how terrified I am each time I get a call about you, worried you might be beyond what I can do to help!”

 

“Eames...”

 

“You want to know why I don’t have a partner at my age, darling?” Eames cut Arthur off, feeling everything he had been holding back for the last year scrambling for freedom. “Because whenever I go out for a drink with someone I keep comparing them to you. Because part of my mind is always worrying about what the hell is happening to you at home, or what shit you’re getting yourself into since you never let me help you until it’s already _too late_.”

 

“I...” Arthur blinked at him, eyes wide. “I figured you were just fucking me because you didn’t want to commit to someone else. I knew you worried so I... I purposefully got into fights, hoping your worrying might turn into more.”

 

Eames watched as Arthur dropped his gaze to the floor, looking lost. Watching Arthur like this, so unconfident and unsure of himself, broke Eames’s heart. Even though Arthur’s abuse had been going on long before Eames had arrived in town and begun working as the sheriff, Eames had still managed to see a brighter side of the teen’s future in rare moments. When Arthur was at school – endlessly brilliant – and in Eames’s house – safe and comfortable – Arthur practically shone with confidence. That’s how Eames wanted the teen to be all the time, no matter what he was doing.

 

“Well congratulations, sweetheart,” Eames sighed, wishing he didn’t have to leave for work so soon after they had stumbled upon such an important conversation. “I care about you more than I should. So _please_ ,” he leaned forward to hold Arthur’s hand, squeezing gently. “Enough of these stupid fights. You already have my full attention; you don’t need to get hurt for it and I can’t bear the thought of something worse happening.”

 

Arthur nodded his agreement but bit his lip. “I can’t make any promises back home...”

 

“Stay with me,” Eames offered immediately. He had thought about making this offer for the last few months, wondering if it was right considering Arthur’s home life, and wondering how Arthur would respond. But now the words had been spoken and Arthur’s heavy gaze was on him, judging his honesty, and Eames could only hold Arthur’s hand a little tighter.

 

He felt his heart clench painfully, making him feel nauseous as he saw Arthur shake his head. “I’m not even legal yet. What are you going to do, adopt me?” Arthur’s eyes clenched closed, refusing to meet Eames’s imploring eyes. “How fucked up would that be?”

 

“I’m not going to adopt you, Arthur,” Eames grumbled, wondering why things couldn’t just run smoothly for once. “I want you to stay with me as a partner. Though if you want to just stay as a friend that’s fine too,” he rushed to add, mentally cursing himself for fumbling through such an important offer. “I just want you to be safe.” Arthur didn’t say anything in response, and when Eames tried to say more Arthur pulled his hand free of Eames’s grasp. Eames sighed and glanced away, trying to think of something to say to ease the tension in the air, but saw the clock. “Shit, I have to get to work.” Arthur barely reacted to his words, seemingly frozen in place. “You know what? Take my spare key and think on it,” Eames pulled his spare key from his keychain and set it on the table in front of the teen.

 

Arthur still didn’t respond, though Eames noticed the teen’s eyes flickering curiously to the spare key sitting in front of him. Eames, in a final desperate attempt, kissed Arthur tenderly on the temple before forcing himself to head out of the house. He didn’t know what decision Arthur would come to, whether Eames had made the right choice in making his offer, or whether he could have worded it differently to make this whole situation run smoother. Eventually he forced himself to turn off the worrying part of his brain and focus on work as he arrived at the office, though it proved to be difficult when he followed up on Mrs. Mulberry’s statement to deal with Arthur’s attackers.

 

He was honestly expecting his house to be empty when Eames returned home from work just before midnight. He expected Arthur to be gone, the door locked with the spare key shoved through his mail slot by Arthur’s generally-responsible nature. So when Eames came home, his feet dragging with exhaustion as he dreaded the realization that he had scared Arthur away, and he found Arthur lounging half asleep on the couch, Eames rushed forward and dragged Arthur into a needy, demanding kiss.

 

Eames pulled away quickly when Arthur released a pained gasp into Eames’s mouth, worried he had hurt the teen or made a mistake. It was only then that he noticed the terrible bruises across Arthur’s face, fingerprints around the teen’s neck, and a gash on his temple. “What happened?” he whispered angrily, brushing his fingers across the tarnished skin gently.

 

Arthur swallowed and leaned into the caresses even though Eames was sure he was probably aching terribly. “I went home to get all my stuff, saying I was moving out, and my dad got really angry,” Arthur admitted, his body tense and unwelcoming until Eames sat carefully on the couch, opening his arms for Arthur to slip into. “Are you sure this is okay? Because if you changed your mind I’ll get a lot less shit the sooner I go back.”

 

Eames brushed his fingers through Arthur’s hair, soothing the teen before he could get more upset than he already was. “You are _never_ going back, darling,” he assured Arthur strongly. Now that he had Arthur where he knew the teen would be safe, he refused to relinquish his hold on Arthur unless he truly wished Eames to let him go. Arthur was quivering on the couch, either from cold or exhaustion or pent up emotions, but Eames just gathered him closer. He kissed the bridge of Arthur’s nose and his unmarred temple and rubbed his hands over Arthur’s back lightly, not pressing too hard in fear of the hidden bruises.

 

The moment was ruined when he heard Arthur’s stomach growl hungrily. Eames pulled away slightly, but froze again when Arthur followed him and crawled into his lap. “Have you eaten?” Arthur shook his head. The teen didn’t speak but Eames was pretty sure it was due to exhaustion now. “Alright,” he pulled one of the recently-folded blankets from the couch’s armrest and wrapped it tightly around Arthur’s body. “You stay here and I’ll make us something quickly; I haven’t eaten either.”

 

He pulled away slowly, waiting for Arthur to protest, but the teen just pulled the blanket tighter around himself and slumped back against the couch. Eames turned up the heat in his house to combat the outside chill before heading to the kitchen, putting some soup on to heat up. He headed to the bathroom to grab a first aid kit, and he was only mildly surprised to find Arthur hovering over the stove stirring the soup, blanket still around his shoulders, when he returned to the kitchen. “Sit down and rest, love,” Eames suggested with exasperation, “I can watch the soup.”

 

Arthur sent him a warning glare and didn’t budge, so Eames steered the teen towards one of the kitchen chairs as forcefully as he dared. He stirred the soup and then opened up his first aid kit, cleaning up Arthur’s more worrying wounds and putting a bandage on his temple when he was done. Arthur insisted that there wasn’t anything that required a hospital visit and that he hadn’t been hit hard enough on the head to cause a concussion and that Eames needed to _stop being a mother hen, fuck_! Eames kissed Arthur’s lips chastely at that, the contact appeasing the grumpy teen, and packed up the kit before spooning out the soup.

 

They ate in silence, both of them too tired and awed that this was actually happening for them to begin much of a conversation. Eames had dreamed of this happening, of Arthur eating dinner with him before they headed to bed together. He hadn’t imagined the bruises of course, but now that Arthur was safe staying with him they would finally fade; Arthur could finally begin to heal and grow the way he was supposed to.

 

They abandoned the dirty dishes and pot in the skin to be cleaned tomorrow, Eames shooing Arthur into the bathroom first while Eames changed into something more comfortable. When he was changed and they were both sitting on the two edges of Eames’s bed, uncertain, Eames saw Arthur reach down and begin to tug at the waistband of his borrowed track pants, which were still on the teen’s hips. Eames reached over and gently stilled Arthur’s movements with his hand, meeting Arthur’s confused gaze. “Not tonight, darling.”

 

Arthur held his gaze but looked even more unsure, beginning to withdraw as those brown eyes turned sad, hurt. “Why not?”

 

Not willing to let that look survive a second longer, Eames reached across the bed and pulled Arthur towards him, both of their bodies meeting in the middle of the bed. They both ended up on their sides facing each other and Eames kept his arm around Arthur’s waist, fingers teasing mindlessly against the sliver of bare skin on Arthur’s lower back. “Because we’re both exhausted and you’re hurt and still probably sore from this morning. And--” he continued on, cutting Arthur off before he could protest, “I want you to know for sure that this, between us, is about more than sex.”

 

Arthur stilled at those words, eyes growing wide before fluttering half-closed shyly. For a moment Eames thought Arthur might mutter those three words that would change their relationship forever. But he didn’t – seventeen was still a young age to be throwing around words as heavy as _love_ – and Eames was sort of grateful. He was pretty sure he knew what he was feeling in his heart each time it fluttered with the sight of Arthur and the teen’s rare smiles. But he wasn’t sure he was ready to say the words yet, to venture into that unknown void, even though he knew without a doubt that he’d readily say the words if Arthur ever did. Eames didn’t want to say the words first because he was scared of pressuring the teen into something he wasn’t ready for.

 

For now Eames was content with the way things were. They moved beneath his sheets together, tugging them up over their shoulders to combat the season’s chill outside. Arthur was finally safe and Eames didn’t care what Arthur’s parents would say when they found out Arthur was staying with him, although no one but he and Arthur would know the full extent of their relationship that went beyond sheriff and troubled teen. Eames still could barely calm down each time he remembered that Arthur was staying with him by choice, that this wasn’t a guilty stolen night after Arthur had gotten himself into a fight. And it was also an immense relief to know that Arthur wouldn’t be getting into any more fights now that the teen had been assured of Eames’s interest.

 

Arthur was here _with_ Eames. Arthur belonged to _him_. He belonged to _Arthur_. They were a _couple_.

 

They didn’t say another word between them that night, both of them exhausted and knowing without words what the other was thinking. Arthur shuffled closer and tucked his head against Eames’s chest, almost entirely covered by the fluffy duvet. Eames felt Arthur’s foot brush against his leg tentatively before their legs entwined beneath the sheets, and then Arthur let out a contented sigh when Eames placed his arm around Arthur’s waist again to hold him closer. Eames kissed the top of Arthur’s head and Arthur arched up to plant a soft kiss to the scruffy underside of Eames’s chin before resettling as they both slipped away into a contented sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out[here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**


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